


And all of the words out of my mouth without even trying

by ModernMutiny



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Crusades Era Joe | Yusuf al-Kaysani & Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Immortal Husbands Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Love Confessions, Love Poems, M/M, Nicky | Nicolò di Genova Loves Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Soft Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, the importance of body language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:27:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26555074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ModernMutiny/pseuds/ModernMutiny
Summary: A recounting of the tale of how Yusuf Al-Kaysani confessed his everlasting love for Nicolo di Genova.Now with a chapter two! because I am incapable of leaving well enough alone
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Nile Freeman & Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani
Comments: 20
Kudos: 236





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> let's be real, this is just an excuse to have Joe spouting poetry over how much he loves Nicky tbh. Also this was all written to the tune of strawberry lemonade svedka and a playlist I’ve titled “eternity with you could never satisfy my heart’s yearning for your touch.” There are multiple elvis songs on it. Its wonderful.
> 
> title from Speechless by Dan and Shay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (some minor edits to name consistency and the year mentioned at the beginning)

It’s not like Joe is constantly reciting beautiful poetry of his own invention over Nicky’s perfection, as much as Nile seems to think that’s the case. Firstly, he often misses the mark on the beautiful bit - no matter how much it makes sense, saying his love for Nicky was like a stew (warm, timeless, sustaining) it would never be as romantic as he would like - and secondly, he never practiced or planned what he would say. He simply lets his heart loose through his tongue, saying what yearns to be known.

Plus, he mostly only said it in front of other people. Nicky, his lovely wonderful Nicky, knew everything in his heart with a single touch, or a look, or a wink. Other people, well they needed convincing this wasn’t some fad, or some “lifestyle” they’d chosen. Other people, generally, were exhausting.

But there were some times that merited him letting his heart free simply for the sake of it. Their first marriage comes to mind, or the last time Nicky took a little too long to resurrect.

If Joe had to choose the most memorable, however, it would be their first declarations.

Nicky, well. Nicky shined that invisible smile - his eyes crinkling just slightly while his mouth only barely quirked up at the corners - and kissed Joe roughly, then softly, then all together thoroughly.

Joe’s declaration of love had quite a bit more drama involved, if he did say so himself.

“It was back in 1109, I think. A little while after we first kissed, at any rate,” He told Nile one late night, a glass of cheap wine in his hand as he took in the warmth of the fireplace. “Nicky had already told me, in all the ways it mattered, that it was more than just the closeness of battle, or newfound immortality, or some thoughtless fling, despite his intentions to play it off as any one of those. I’m very good at reading him, you see. Body language is one of my many talents.”

He winked at her. She groaned and took a long sip of her own wine, digging her toes further into the warmth of the blanket she’d cocooned herself in.

They were stuck in a small cabin in the mountains, for the time being, and Nile had chosen to pass the time by asking for stories of anything Joe wished to talk about concerning his centuries upon the earth. Nicky and Andy were in the city, bartering for passage back out of the miserable tundra, and Joe didn’t envy them one bit. He’d much rather sit by the fire with good company, reminiscing about his love.

“Nicky’s always been a strong silent type, you know. Everything burns low and long with him. Anger, sadness, love,” He ticked off.

Nile and he both took a moment to remember how he sat so silently at Booker’s sentencing, speaking only to say firmly, with no chance for arguments, that anything less than a century would be far too forgiving for the crime he committed. Joe was gunning for two - the same length of time he had been, presumably, plotting his betrayal - but Andy talked him down. She tried going lower, something possibly in her new timeframe, but saw reason eventually when Nicky just clenched his jaw and gave her a look that said more than words ever could.

“Regardless,” Joe dispelled the memory, “I could tell how he felt without him saying a word. We didn’t have words, for so long, that his actions always spoke louder then. Still do, truly.”

Nile hummed, settling further into the couch. “So what about you, then? Was that body language too?” She wagged her eyebrows, clearly feeling the effects of the copious amounts of wine she’d consumed. She said it was her favourite. Joe held himself from pointing out it cost $5.

“Not at all,” Joe huffed a laugh, “Nicky is terrible at body language. He second-guesses himself too much, he needs words. That’s why I learned to love poetry. To show him how much I truly meant what I said.”

Nile frowned hard. “Wait, you didn’t read poetry before that?” She seemed to take this in as a fundamental shift to his character, as if she imagined he’d always used such flowery words.

“I was a merchant,” Joe shrugged, “Not much time for poetry or books. I could read, yes, but I didn’t particularly enjoy it. I liked visual art better. Paintings, sculptures, the like.”

“Why didn’t you just paint him then?”

Joe smiled at the memory that prompted. “I did, many times.” He’d tried sketches, paintings, small sculptures made of the clay he’d dug up from the riverbanks. Nicky thought he was simply the only suitable subject or, when they wandered into a city full of many beautiful people that failed to earn a spot on his canvas, a muse. “He was endearingly obtuse on such matters.”

Nile hummed, taking that in. “So how’d you do it, then?”

“Like I said, I started reading poetry. Then, after I had the words in his language to tell him, well.”

\--

They were in a small village at that point, in what was now Turkey. The literacy rate was remarkably high for the times, and so there were many books to be found on any subject, and especially love. Joe bought out as many as he could justify, walking about the town to gather in his arms any manner of books on the subject of his blooming love for Nicolo.

When he’d gotten home to the inn they were staying at, Nicolo was already hard at work cooking them something that smelled absolutely delicious. That was one of Nicolo’s tells, he’d learned later. When he felt overwhelmed by the fullness of his heart, he cooked. Or baked. Or created something, anything, to help sustain those he loved.

Food, Yusuf learned slowly, was as much a language of love as poetry.

He stopped at the entrance to the room, placing his books very carefully on the ground. Nicolo was humming under his breath, poking at the food over the fire with an intense look on his face. Probably making sure it was all completely perfect for them. For Joe, his Yusuf.

“We live such long lives,” Yusuf said, startling Nicolo from his task. Yusuf did not pause save to allow that gentle restfulness that painted Nicolo’s face whenever they were together to return once more. “We have until the end of the earth to find what we like and love, what we excel at and what fails us.”

Nicolo frowned, tilting his head a minor degree. “Yes, we do.”

Yusuf sighed, the hours spent scouring over poetry books failing him at the feet of this wonderful, beautiful man and his moonlit eyes. “I’m failing at this already.” He scrubbed at his beard, his hair.  
Nicolo, ever patient, did not move from his spot except to turn slightly towards Yusuf. “Fail what, Yusuf? Take the time you need.”

\--

“It was really his calm rock in a storm exterior that pushed me to make it through,” Joe told Nile, “Mostly because I knew he was shaking inside, probably worse than I was.”

Nile laughed, knowing exactly how unsteady Nicky got at Joe’s distress, like a feral, murderous, newly-born fawn scrambling towards Joe like he was a magnet.

“But as much as I knew he loved me, I was still terrified I would say it wrong and he’d hate me, somehow. I was dramatically naive, then.”

“Only then?” Nile argued, eyebrows raised incredulously.

Joe shushed her. “Do you want me to tell you what I said or not?”

Nile settled back into her blanket cocoon, waving a hand in a small arc, given her arm was mostly trapped under layers of fleece. “You may continue.”

“Grazie gentilmente, altezza.”

\--

He looked up into Nicolo’s eyes, at his softened features and the way he seemed so poised to jump up and attempt to fix any ailments Yusuf possessed. He fell even more in love, in that moment, strengthening his resolve.

“If my life is now infinite, then Allah has given me infinite moments to worship you, your mind and soul, the beauty of your very presence.”

He could hear Nicolo make a soft noise, somewhere between confused and gratified, but Yusuf did not pause for fear if he did his throat would close again and he might never find the words.

“I never want to spend another moment away from you, Nicolo, no matter how long I live. You are the missing pieces I thought I had lost forever, the warmth and sunlight that hid away for so many years. I have loved you since before I knew what love truly meant, though it was true in my heart, and I will love you long after I know anything else save your name. I've battled the unconquerable spectre of death simply to have a few more moments living in your gaze, and I will take on anything the world can give to spend the rest of my days cradled in your arms.”

He had let his gaze fall to the floor during his speech, but now he forced himself to look Nicolo in the eyes, the heart. The other man was frowning just slightly, sitting poised on a razor’s edge, waiting for a push.

Well, Yusuf was nothing if not unwilling to be persuasive. He was a merchant, after all.

“I love you, Nicolo di Genova, as I know you love me. With all your heart.”

Nicolo stood up, suddenly and stiffly, hands curling in at his sides. His face looked brighter, as if he had received a gift he had long waited for. “Yusuf, I…”

And, as would become the norm, words failed where actions did not. Nicolo surged forward, sliding his fingers into Yusuf’s beard as he pressed his lips to Yusuf’s, soft and light.  
Yusuf deepened the kiss with a grunt, a moan, and soon after they had found themselves splayed out on the bed of their room, hands travelling with an urgency that-

\--

“Oh god, okay!” Nile shouted, hands over her ears, “That’s enough! I don’t need to hear about your sexcapades, thank you. You guys are like my immortal gay dads, that’s weird.”

Joe couldn’t help but laugh, loud and free. “Nicky would be overjoyed to hear that. He’s always wanted children.”

Nile let her hands fall from her ears. “Really, he said that? He doesn’t seem the type.”

“Well, not in words,” Joe acquiesced, bopping his head a little as he decided how best to explain. “Nicky doesn’t say much with words, Nile. But if you pay attention, truly, he says more than even I do. Especially in things that matter.”

“Huh.” Nile curled up, arms around her knees. “I guess I still have a lot to learn.”

Oh, how Joe would relish the chance to relearn all of Nicky’s tells, his quirks. How he yearned to find a new twitch that held more than could be said in lifetimes. Then again, he uncovered something new about Nicky every day. A puzzle he could never tire of. “We never stop learning, Nile.”

He knew with Nicky, even once they reached millennia, that fact would never change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, that was indeed a loose mash-up of the wonderful "love is oatmeal" from brooklyn 99 (s2e17) and "stew of romance" from joe in the comics (vol 2 issue 2)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicky's take on Joe's first love confession.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all I say I'm only good at one shots, I'm remarkably bad at leaving things alone. I'm officially labelling this in my head as a coda, but really it's just a continuation of the previous chapter and I like to keep everything in the same universe in one spot, generally, so have an unexpected chapter two that I wrote aloud to my voice recorder as I drove to work this morning.

It was a few weeks later, after they had escaped the biting tundra for warmer climates, when Nile approached Nicky on the subject.

He was in the middle of cooking for everyone, as usual - since Andy was likely to make something microwaveable just for the convenience and Joe was likely to drift off into thought and let their meal burn - humming to himself an old song he'd lost the words to centuries ago.

Nile wandered into the kitchen, no doubt inticed by the smell of garlic and basil wafting through the house. It was a house Andy owned, this time, somewhere in the middle of Greece. It was small, only three rooms including the living room, but at least this one had a serviceable kitchen. It had been too long since their last home cooked meal.

"All right," Nile said as she plopped into a stool at the kitchen counter, as if they were simply continuing a conversation after a brief interruption, "I heard the story from Joe, but now I want to hear your side."

Nicky frowned as he stirred the herbs in his pan, ensuring they don't burn.

Nile had often interrogated each of them on certain aspects of their memory that she deemed important to her knowledge of history, and was loudly chagrined that each of them always had conflicting accounts. Memory, Nicky knew, was far from the most reliable scribe.

"Which story?" He asks, tilting his head in her direction while keeping his eyes firmly on his pan.

"The story of how Joe told you he loved you."

Nicky's frown deepened. "Have you met Joe? He has told me in a million ways, every moment for nearly a millenia."

Nile groaned, dropping her elbows onto the counter, hands splayed flat on the surface. "No, no, no. The _first_ time."

Ah. That time.

Nicky sighed softly. "Bene, I'll tell you. But," he added when she perked up, far too excited for this, "only if you help chop the vegetables."

Nile jumped out of her seat at record speed. "Deal."

\--

They were in Beirut, at the time, looking to gain passage on a ship to Constantinople where they were intent on finding these strange women they've dreamt about.

\--

"Wait, hold up." Nile held her hands up, knife held precariously between her palm and thumb. Nicky would worry, if he was not sure she could catch it, or simply heal from the cut she was inevitably going to endure. "Joe said you were in Turkey."

Nicky shrugged, adding stock to his herbs. "That's where Constantinople is, yes. We stayed there for quite a while, taking in the sights. It was a wonderful city."

"How far back does this story go?" She gave him a skeptical look, eyes narrowed.

Nicky rolled his eyes. "Do you want to hear it or not?"

She looked away to some imagined point for a moment, then waved her hands. "Okay, okay, go ahead."

"Grazie."

\--

Beirut was far too hot during the day, especially for Nicolo, who was much more accustomed to the more temperate seafront climate of Genoa. Luckily for him, it was perfectly acceptable to nap in the middle of the day so as to avoid the hottest hours. Or, it was lucky when he wasn't awoken, sweating profusely and with a hand on the hilt of his blade before he could even process what woke him.

A loud groan came from across the room, where Yusuf was poring over a stack of books far taller than himself where he sat cross-legged in the corner. The bedroom was the only place in the apartment they were renting for the week that didn't have any windows, and therefore was saved from the sweltering summer heat.

"Nothing can compare," Yusuf moaned in Arabic, discarding one book as he went to open the next.

Nicolo's Arabic was rusty, sure, but he was fairly confident he got that one right.

"Compare to what, Yusuf?"

Yusuf looked up promptly, startled. He slammed the book in his lap shut. "Hm? Oh, Nicolo, did I wake you?"

Well, at least he was speaking Greek now, Nicolo thought. They were attempting to learn each other's languages, Yusuf progressing much faster than Nicolo, but Greek was still a happy medium they each knew well.

Nicolo sat up, dropping his hand from his sword to clear his hair from his eyes.

"What are you attempting to compare, Yusuf?" Nicolo asked again, eyeing the titles on the books that were stacked and scattered about the floor. Where Yusuf had the time to find them all, Nicolo would never know. The titles were in Greek, Latin, Arabic, French, and even more Nicolo could not identify. Once again, Nicolo was astonished on how accomplished his Yusuf was in words, how many languages he was the master of.

The titles Nicolo could read, however, were very clear in their subject. It was certainly a large number of books of love poems. More than Nicolo thought would exist, in a smaller port like Beirut. Yusuf must have spent a lot of time and money on this escapade.

So Yusuf was studying love. That seemed...odd. Perhaps he was simply expanding his scope of the world, of emotion. Nicolo wasn't sure that was the case.

Yusuf, ever the suave gentleman, was having trouble finding his words. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, gesturing half-heartedly.

Nicolo decided to put him out of his misery.

"All these books are on love," He pointed out, "Why is that so important to you? Do you have a secret lover somewhere you're trying to impress? The blacksmith's daughter, perhaps?"

Nicolo had eyes, he could see how Yusuf flirted, how the girl was wonderful and sweet and very much in love with this charming foreigner.

Yusuf's eyes darted around the room, settling on Nicolo's bare feet. "No, no. There's someone much more important. I need to find the perfect words to tell them how I feel, that I reciprocate their love for me."

Nicolo was sure he had an inkling of who that might be. Yusuf was so open about his emotions, and it seemed all of them were directed Nicolo's way. What they were doing might have been more than simply keeping a travel companion warm at night, but he wasn't aware it had evolved into something so deep on Yusuf's side. Nicolo knew from the very beginning that he would love this man, with his smiles that outshone the sun and hands that were as soft as they were capable.

He had never told Yusuf, he didn't think it was necessary. They had what they had, and he was content with that. If it evolved, so be it. If they spent forever in this limbo they'd created, then he would be perfectly satisfied.

\--

"You know, there's a meme about that."

Nicky frowned. Nile seemed to have that effect on him a lot, these days. "A... same?" He wasn't exactly sure when she had learned French (though her pronunciation was dreadful), but he was willing to follow her train of thought for a moment.

Nile buried her face in her hands, slicing her ear with the knife still held between her fingers. She didn't seem to notice. "I forgot, it's like talking to my grandpa."

"What are you on about?"

She looked back up at him. "I'm not going to get into meme politics right now. What you need to know is that there's a comic out there with a drawing of a dog dressed like a person, sitting at his kitchen table calmly while his house burns down around him, and he just says 'This is fine.'" She shrugs, apparently emulating the dog-person.

Nicky considers for a moment. "Looking back, I suppose that's accurate."

Nile nods, satisfied. "I know. Continue."

\--

Nicolo got up to sit next to Yusuf on the ground, gently pushing books out of the way to create a space.

"If this person truly loves you, then they would not care if the words are perfect," Nicolo says, running a finger over the spine of the nearest book. The title was written in something in between French and Latin, as many texts were. _La Madán_ _d'amore_. Perhaps Yusuf was indeed smitten with a woman?

"No, see, the words are vital." Yusuf sighed, threading his fingers through his hair. The damp collar of his shirt fell open an inch more, revealing the start of his collarbone. Nicolo's mouth was suddenly quite dry. "I must say this perfectly. This person tells me every day, in every move they make, what they feel. I must tell them, as clearly as they have told me, exactly what they mean to me."

Yusuf paused, looking into Nicolo's eyes with an intensity that Nicolo did not anticipate. It was as if he was trying to reach out and touch Nicolo's soul.

"Every stroke of his fingers, every glance in my direction, tells me in more than words how his heart reaches for mine. Every night as he sits with the moonlight in his eyes I am told by the heavens in his gaze how we are divine, how he feels as strongly as I do that our hearts must beat as one. He has told me in countless ways, and yet I cannot find a way to tell him the same."

Nicolo's smile softened, watching as Yusuf's face twisted into something lonely yet hopeful.

It was clear who this was all about. Even if the pronouns weren't a dead giveaway, the look Yusuf gave him would have secured that knowledge. After all, who else did Yusuf always say held the moonlight in his eyes?

There was a warmth growing in his heart, at the confirmation that Yusuf shared his affliction. It was an easy slide into familiarity, into the place in Yusuf's arms he had come to call home. Nicolo had been wading in the deep end of these uncountable feelings for some time now, and it was at this moment he had confirmation that Yusuf was there with him. A natural merging of their paths in the dawn.

Apparently, however, Yusuf did not feel this shift. Luckily for him, Nicolo was nothing if not patient. "Was all that from one of your books, then?"

He picked up the book under his fingers, pretending to look for the words that had just tumbled out of Yusuf's mouth with such ease.

"Well, no." Yusuf frowned just slightly between his brows, sitting back against the cool clay wall. "Those words are from my heart."

"Ah, well there you are," Nicolo said, placing a light hand on Yusuf's knee, "It's in your heart already. Why do you need to read all these books of other people's hearts, other loves, when yours is unique and yours alone? Simply say such words as you have said to me, and all will be well, Yusuf."

Yusuf's eyes widened, a smile playing on his lips. "I will think on that, Nicolo." He grabbed a book, placing it neatly on the stack to his side. "I am keeping the books, though."

Nicolo laughed despite himself. "Whatever for?"

Yusuf shrugged, already moving to stand. "Inspiration, partly." He threw a wicked look at Nicolo. "And the thoughts on how best to worship a lover's body are quite informative. Perhaps I shall try some of their ideas, once I find the correct prhasing."

Nicolo smiled, heart warm. That was all the confirmation he needed to put his fears to rest. Yusuf loved him as strongly as he loved Yusuf, there was no need for words.

Yusuf stood tall, stretching his legs. "I'll cook dinner tonight," He says as he stretched his arms above his head. "Polenta and cotechino perhaps, as a measure of my appreciation."

Nicolo just smiled, at ease. For Yusuf to be willing to spend hours over heat in the warmest hours of the day, sweating and labouring simply to make Nicky a dish that reminded him of home, well. If he wasn't positive before of how Yusuf felt, he surely was now.

Yusuf loved him, truly and irrevocably. The rest would come with time.

\--

"So you knew before he told you all that?" Nile had only finished cutting half the vegetables, engrossed with the story as she was.

Nicky moved to help her finish, but not before levelling her an unimpressed look. "Joe has always worn his heart on his sleeve. When he loves, it is with everything that he has. Even at the beginning, that was plain to see."

Nile gave up on chopping entirely, waving her knife around dangerously. It wasn't even a kitchen knife, but one of Andy's. How she got it while retaining all her fingers, Nicky knew better than to speculate. "Dude, does Joe know this? He was very sure you were ignorant that whole time."

Chuckling, Nicky threw the rest of the vegetables into the pan. "Yes, I've told him very many times. He seems to prefer the drama of his version better."

There was quiet for a moment before Nile spoke with a softness to her tone that Nicky was quite familiar with. It was a frequent side effect of Joe's mere presence. "You guys really were made for each other, huh?"

He smiled, bigger than usual. Now she was starting to understand what took Joe far too long.

"Yes, I'd like to think we were."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also, concerning this and the last chapter, I am very aware that we have no evidence of written love poems in any European language existing before around 1150. The culture on love was very different from today, not so much an individual thing but more a divine path sort of deal.  
> Regardless, for the purposes of this fic (and minor suspension of disbelief) we're going to assume there's no evidence of these books of poetry because Joe bought them all and hid them away. This was, after all, well in advance of the printing press and therefore all literature had to be transcribed by hand, so it's very possible that there were only a few editions of any given book, and only Joe's survived the procession of time.  
> At least, that's what I'm telling myself so I can stop staring balefully into the void of that particular plot hole for now.


End file.
